Nine Lives
by Dianne
Summary: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." - Gandhi This is a response to the 'no guarantees' Challenges issued by Ginger.


A/N This story is inspired by Ginger's 'no guarantees' challenge and I thank her very much for the prompt.

Now for the disclaimer … While challenges are typically shorter in nature than one shots, this one got away from me. I'm posting it as a one shot but feel free to break it up into sections if it's too long. I've gone over it for mistakes as well as time permitted. And … this one comes from the heart.

_Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances – _Unknown … or is it?

XXXX

Life changed many times, not by his own design but by the whims of others. He had been a good and faithful kitten, waiting to cuddle and comfort after his mistresses' long shift at the mall. She'd tell him all her secrets and he didn't hold it against her when she found money for cigarettes but forgot a can of food for him. When she got a new boyfriend who did not like him, he was tossed from the apartment like yesterday's newspaper. Just like that.

He survived on the kindness of the fish market owner who gave him a few meals here and there until he found a new family. He didn't understand that they only wanted him to rid their home of mice so they could sell and move taking all their belongings with them except him. He had lived in abandoned buildings where there were raids he didn't understand other than to run to avoid the nets his friends were caught up in and never seen again. Several times in his life he had almost surrendered to the net, having heard that a few who did made it past the stuff of legend and death to get a new life. But the stories of death were scary and something deep inside him knew he was waiting for more.

Years went by. He was a big cat now, scruffy and oil-covered from street life. Most of the male cats avoided the nesting females squatting in an old factory that was in the process of shutting down with only a few remaining employees left to pack up. But he remembered what hungry felt like. Every day he would carry in a bird or a mouse and push it with his nose toward the babies. It wasn't typical male behavior but he didn't care.

The air in the factory felt different, fresher somehow without the last big machine that was being loaded and hauled away. He hid. His heart leapt and at the same time he felt a profound sadness as the men gathered to say goodbye. He'd eaten many tuna sandwiches with them.

The big man with the gray hair that contrasted with a large black mustache stumped to a halt in front of him. He would miss this man's lunch, yummy sausages and noodles covered with tomato sauce that most cats hated, but he was an international cat, or at least he liked to think that way, admitting to eating from a dumpster was worse than getting used to slightly acidic foods. They stared at each other for a long time.

The cat pawed the ground awkwardly. He wasn't going to do it. He wasn't going to cry. He knew this was it but at least this time someone had stopped to say goodbye. But goodbyes, he discovered, hurt almost as bad as hellos. He gulped and rubbed his oily head onto the equally oily pants Luigi wore knowing this was the last time he'd see him. Empty houses or apartments or buildings meant goodbye. He got that.

How he loved when his head was rubbed, even if it was followed by a tsk tsk of disgust from the human who'd done it because of the dirt in his fur. He tried to be clean but it was hard to reach the top of his own head and helping clean the kittens was exhausting. He wondered what would become of them without the handouts from lunch boxes and the warmth of steam from the machines.

"I would take you with me," Luigi said sadly. He didn't really understand what the man was saying but he believed him. "I can't afford my house anymore now that the plant's closed down and at my age it's not like anyone's gonna hire me. I gotta move to an apartment and there's no pets allowed."

Luigi cleared his throat and stood back up. He picked up his lunch pail and searched through it until he found his Thermos of noodles. He placed it on the floor and walked away. He wouldn't need it anymore. He wasn't coming back.

The cat watched him go. He used to try to follow humans when they walked away from him but now he knew better. It either got him kicked or made the humans sad or angry. He wouldn't do that to Luigi.

The sound of the light being shut off today sounded louder than usual, final and plunged the building into the mercy of the setting sun which had long since dipped below its ability to cheer the decrepit place up.

Luigi's truck started, he always knew the sound, first to break the silence of the night in the morning and last to pull away when all the others had gone. But it hurt to know that tomorrow he could prance the factory without being told off, could run flat out from one corner to another without tripping someone, would have to go back to a diet of only mice and bugs.

Wheels on gravel crunched. He'd listen until it died away then eat his supper and leave the dish drippings to attract his next meal. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. He'd never noticed how big the place was. And the finality of it all settled upon him. He ate the noodles, it wouldn't do well to waste food and it would be an insult to Mama Luigi, whoever that was, maker of pasta and cleaner of Luigi's pants.

XXXX

Mama cat caught a mouse at the thermos. He let her have it. The babies needed it. Later he'd go get them another if he could manage it. They weren't his but they were cute and kind of fun to look after while Mama went to stretch her legs.

XXXX

From time to time he'd find a plate of spaghetti or tuna pushed through a hole in the corrugated metal doors. He knew where it came from and half of him wished Luigi would stay long enough to see him. But goodbye was final and at least the food tasted a bit like love, at least as far as he understood it.

XXXX

Fish scales glittered in the sun coming through the dirty windows, iridescent rainbows of pastel against leftover grime and neglect. The kittens played with them, the only toys in the emptiness of their short lives. He looked at them sadly. Their life would be like his.

The crunch of gravel as rain water was shot out of the tire gouges in the parking lot made his fur stand on end. No one had driven here for a long time. It wasn't Luigi as much as he had strained to hear the familiar engine rattle. Strong perfume like his old mistress had worn assaulted his nose. Two people approached. He shooed the kittens behind a hole in the wall and pawed their tiny curious heads back down each time they tried to see what was happening.

There was a man and a woman. The woman wore shoes with spikes on the heel which he knew to be very painful to be kicked with. The man carried a can that he could smell despite the cap.

"There's no way we can adapt this into what we need. Torch it and let's get out of here," the woman told the man.

He didn't understand the words but he knew what happened when that smell and the hissing orange snake met. The man walked the length of the building, his shiny shoes crunching the fish bones and scattering the rainbow scales. When he made it to the door, he flicked a small box where his caged snake was held. It escaped immediately hissing even at its previous owner and flew away from him drinking the pools of pungent liquid and biting at everything it touched, merely tasting some of the substances but eating others until they were no more. When it reached the fish skeleton it consumed it without respect to the life it once held and he knew this was not nature, the chase being lost before it was even fought.

XXXX

Luigi placed the spaghetti on the ground on a paper plate. He couldn't spare a real plate, his wife would kill him. They'd already had to give away a lot of their kitchen gadgets when they downsized to the senior's residence. He placed his hand on the metal doors, staring sadly at the chains that represented the new system of things that had driven him and some other really good guys and gals away. The door was hot. He ran to his truck where his old CB radio was. It hadn't worked since his last day at the factory when he'd had to drive from one building to another and report on the day's work progress. He put out a message to whoever might hear it over the crackling and static, dropped the microphone and went to find his old friend. If it wasn't too late.

Luigi ran to the side of the building where he'd planted a garden over the years for his fellow employees to eat amongst trees and plants, an oasis against the human-leveled landscape. He didn't have time to lament the overgrown roses and weeds that dared poke through the neglected, transplanted soil he'd so tenderly looked after for over twenty-five years on his lunch hour or breaks.

XXXX

"Damn," Cap cussed. He'd hoped the abandoned factory would be well - abandoned. A blue truck was parked just before the chained metal doors. He gave orders for hoses to be pulled and Marco was already handing the cutting tools to Chet.

"Urgh!" Chet gulped and looked down as his foot slipped in … "Spaghetti?" The chain clanked through the two handles to the ground. He took his glove off and felt the doors. They were hot.

Cap's hand slid down the warm hood of the truck. He looked in every direction. There was no sign of anyone. The building was clearly a Frankenstein of its former self with a wooden ceiling and support beams married to corrugated metal walls. Ancient wood planks made up part of flooring while in other areas cracked concrete told of a forgotten renaissance. If not for the truck and open window about four feet off the ground, this would be a containment situation.

"Roy, John, follow Chet and Marco. We'll have to do a quick sweep for anyone in the building. Make it quick; those old timbers aren't happy about this heat." And as if to prove their discontent a loud, ominous groan screamed from beam to beam and orange beads of ancient tar spit down upon them. The four men snugged up their SCBA gear and entered the smoke filled building.

"Watch your step!" Marco called out, pointing down at the many footings of machines that remained screwed into concrete bases. It was easier said than done but each man took higher steps to avoid catching a foot on something. They saw it immediately; the cause of this fire; lines on the concrete following a too-straight pattern where the floor shined as if swept when the heat of the fire had blown away the dust in its hunger.

Roy thumbed the HT. "Cap, we haven't found any victims yet but suspect this fire is the result of arson."

"L.A., Engine fifty-one. Please dispatch L.A.P.D. to our location," Cap requested as station sixteen arrived. A window on the far end of the building exploded outward showering the parking lot with glass. Cap took a minute to check with his men and sighed in relief but called for an ambulance as a precaution should they find a victim in the building.

XXXX

"What the …" John mumbled as something tripped him and as he righted himself, a cat streaked through a small, jagged hole in the metal skeleton. He shook his head and nodded to Roy that he was fine. He watched in amazement as the cat re-entered, dove into the wall like a ghost and emerged a second later with something dangling from its mouth. It streaked away in the same direction it had come from but by now the guys couldn't see where it went. As they drew close to the far wall, flashlights scouring the floor and catwalks above, they heard someone coughing.

Roy's flashlight beam caught the old man's eyes. He was lying on his stomach on a catwalk about a story and half up off the ground.

"Was kinda … stupid. Forgot … smoke rises," the man coughed harshly. "Was tryin' to make it to … the old foreman's office. You know … eyes from above."

"Take it easy, we'll get you down. Are you hurt anywhere?" Roy asked just as beam supporting the metal catwalk groaned again.

"I fell … my foot's caught in the railing," was all the man could get out before a coughing fit overtook him.

Roy and Johnny took the steps two at a time while Chet and Marco sprayed the wooden I-beams which continued to hiss and spark and were fully engulfed in some areas.

"Uh, guys, I don't think I have to say it but I doubt we have much time," Chet called up as a corner of the I-beam slipped, popping super heated rivets spraying the area like bullets.

"Ow!" John yelled as his helmet zinged with an ear jarring noise. When he lifted his head, his face shield was cracked. Smoke wasted no time replacing the fresh oxygen that was now pouring out.

"John, you okay?" Chet called out anxiously as Roy reached their victim.

"Yeah, the helmet deflected whatever that was. I got a dandy crack, though," John lamented as he coughed harshly.

"Too much information, babe," Chet called as he helped Marco anchor the hose to a railing and then climbed up toward his friend.

"Ha ha, funny, Chet. I'm fine. I'll just go up real quick, give Roy a hand getting the victim and we'll get out of here."

Chet inspected the cracked face shield.

"No way. The smoke's worse up there. Let's get you down and _I'll_ help Roy with the victim.

John inhaled to protest but his mask filled with smoke. Chet was right. John went back down, throat already beginning to burn. Chet quickly scrambled back up after a few words with Marco.

XXXX

"What happened, Chet?" Roy asked as he wiggled the victim's foot in every direction to no avail.

"John's shield's cracked from a flying bolt. There's a bit of blood under his chin but I don't think it's anything serious. I told Marco to get him out if this isn't gonna be quick. It'll be safer with the four of us together."

"Sir, do you think you could pull your leg upwards just a bit to take a bit of the weight off your foot?"

"I'll … try … but don't call me … sir. I'm Luigi. I worked down there," the man pointed to the floor below where John and Marco were barely visible spraying the beams. "The _sirs _… worked up here."

Roy cut Luigi's pant hem away and removed his shoe. He didn't want to put petroleum jelly on the man's foot because flames were crawling across the I-beam steadily and sparks would ignite the petroleum product. Once Luigi pulled his leg as hard as he could upwards, Roy was able to wiggle it out, thanks to sweat from the rising heat as well. Roy gave Luigi a breath of air from his own tank. Luigi was too weak from smoke inhalation to walk further than getting himself down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs Roy quickly picked him up over his shoulder and the four men began to make their way out of the smoke filled oven.

The cat streaked by them again, startled by their movements and something small dropped from its mouth. It continued through the tiny hole in the metal but turned right back around and came back in. John picked up the kitten it had been carrying and quickly set it next to the hole where the cat grabbed it like an old fashioned mechanical piggy bank collecting coins. The sooner the cat was out of here the better; the building was coming down and soon. The extra effort which took less than thirty seconds took its toll on John's breathing however.

They continued on, stepping down a couple of steps of concrete cinder blocks in a square pattern with wood plank flooring which must have been footings for a large machine of some sort when the building was in use.

When John doubled over, Chet called a momentary halt and shared some air with him. John put his hand up that he was ready to continue just as the thin, metal railings of the catwalks above fell as the ends slipped from their burnt wooden couplings. Roy, who was slightly ahead with their victim watched in horror as Chet was walloped to the ground across the shoulders and John, in his bent position was raked by the railing, turnout coat shoved up along his back. Marco had hit the floor just in time but the hose flew out of his hands and snaked spraying water crazily everywhere.

Roy swallowed hard and thumbed the handie talkie but as he was calling for backup, Marco got to his feet followed closely by John and Chet. Chet gave a thumbs up sign and John batted his hand toward the exit while Marco wrestled the hose back into his control. Roy spared one last glance at his friends. Chet was hunched over, shoulders next to his ears, one hand on Marco's back. Chet locked arms with John who tried in vain to wipe his face shield clear. Just as they started their forward momentum and the late afternoon sun appeared to stab through the smoke haze, a beam overhead crackled and gave way showering Marco, Chet and John with catwalk beams and steps.

Roy had just cleared the steps back up out of the old concrete and wood square. The smoke didn't clear this time when Roy looked back and nor did any of his three crew mates stand back up.

Roy had no choice but to dash forward out of the building. It would be quicker than trying to reposition his burden and use the HT.

Cap, Brice and Bellingham from sixteen's rushed forward and took Luigi from Roy.

"Cap, we've had a collapse of metal catwalk structures and stairs. Marco, Chet and Johnny are trapped under the debris in a concave machine footing," Roy reported before turning to rush back into the building. Cap stopped him short for a brief moment, long enough to call for more backup and give a location before both of them ran back inside.

Chet was cussing when Cap and Roy reached the pile of twisted metal, his powerful legs kicking aside the pyramid shaped cocoon over him until he freed himself and made to stand up.

"Whoa, Chet," Roy cautioned as his eyes roved the dull metal for signs of Marco and his partner.

"M'okay … Roy," Chet coughed. Roy forced himself to calm down and do his job correctly. "Get up slowly, Chet, tell me where you hurt."

"Shoulders from … the first round, but nothing this time, honest," Chet said. Roy held onto the linesman until he was steady on his feet. He checked his face shield and pupils which seemed fine. When four men from sixteen ran inside, Roy asked Chet to follow one of them outside. When Chet refused, Roy only had to glance at Cap who was bent over, small bars of metal flying from his hands off of the huge pile.

Marco groaned as he was pulled gently but quickly by his turnout pants out from beneath the rubble. He clutched at his ribs and coughed harshly. He too tried to stand immediately upon being freed but a hand on his chest stopped him.

"Easy, Marco, let us get you out of here. Tell me where you hurt," Roy coaxed as the linesman continued to struggle to get up.

"Ribs. In my back. Chest is okay, just it feels better if I hold my arms in front of me," Marco admitted grudgingly. "You got Chet, I heard you talking. What about Johnny?"

"Not yet, Marco, but we will. Did you hear him at all?" Roy tried to ask casually while secretly trying to ascertain whether his partner was unconscious or worse.

"Right when the stuff settled, I heard him. He said he was okay … but he didn't sound so good. Rasping and all."

"Don't worry. We'll get him out. You're gonna get a free ride out in the meantime. Let us do all the work, okay, try not to move. Brice and Bellingham are waiting for you and I'll be right out with Johnny." Roy helped load Marco into a stokes and he was swiftly taken from the danger zone.

The sun was baking the building from the outside and the burning beams added to the scorch. The metal walls seemed to suck in and out like they too craved a breath in the intensely increasing heat.

With Marco and Chet safely outside, Roy got his first good look at the debris. The last thing he remembered, Johnny was close to Marco and Chet but if he dove in any direction to avoid the falling metal rods, he could be under the same debris pile or the one next to it. If not for the square bowl created by the cinder blocks, all three men would surely have been crushed but the crazily bowed metal rods seemed to have roofed over the crevice beneath.

XXXX

It was hot. Salt ran into his eyes etching his retinas along with the soot. His chest burned. He tried to suck in air but got only smoke, his air hose hissing uselessly next to him. He gritted his teeth and pulled off a glove feeling underneath himself. Wood! Of all the places they had to be pinned in the section with wooden floor planks. He strained his head to the side. A small gap in the metal by the floor a foot away was his only saving grace. Small puffs of air carrying mostly dust and industrial particles wafted through. He'd take what he could get. He kept his head tilted toward the narrow shaft of light trickling in and blinked when the light went out as if flicked with a switch but came right back on seconds later. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him but a small black shape blocked the light again allowing only an outline. The cat's amber eyes were eerie, back-lit by sunlight and smoke that was billowing out around him as if trying to escape too.

In moments the cat returned with another little limp shape in its mouth. It regarded the prone person on the floor and proceeded through coming back once again in another minute empty mouthed. It wobbled and even in the dense smoke Gage could smell it; the smell only firefighters should know; burnt flesh and hair. John was seized with fear. Had his friends been burned? But no … how long had he been out? He had heard Marco and Chet getting rescued before. The cat stared at him as he shook his head trying to clear his mind.

"You'd better scat, cat," John coughed.

The cat seemed to have intelligence beyond its nature. It moved out of the tiny air hole, its escape route. It cocked its head like a dog and continued to stare at the silly human who didn't have the sense to flee a burning building. A small puff of outside air carried the smell of … roses that lingered for a second but were obliterated once more by the scent that terrified them both.

The cat approached and the smell grew stronger. John's already nauseous stomach turned. His ears were ringing and he remembered the propelled bolt shattering his face shield. John shifted; his uniform shirt feeling like a part of his body. Sweat soaked fingers pulled his air hose away from the damaged face shield and he placed it between his lips like a straw. A feeble trickle of oxygen escaped and he drank it in. His eyes closed. He tried to open them. Too hot … And somewhere in the distance his partner called for him. He tried to call out. Maybe he had but if he had, why did Roy keep asking where he was?

"Johnny! Can you hear me? Answer me? We're coming for you," Roy called as he and Cap worked on one pile and the guys from sixteen worked on the other.

The little cat wobbled. It looked back the way it had come, so inviting but something within him called, something even beyond him. His once magnificently tuned whiskers no longer served him and he couldn't feel the doorways and little exits that were afforded to him. He flicked his tail but it no longer swished testing the air experimentally like it once did. He licked at his burnt foot but his tongue was too dry to soothe. He turned to leave. He turned back. He didn't want to die in here. He wanted to see the little kittens once more, smell the overgrown rosebushes again. He wasn't sure what death was but he'd seen it enough times to know that's what was going to happen to him. He'd been close enough to the vans with the men who had the nets to know what death smelled like. His tortured nose rose into the air and he wobbled toward the prone figure on the floor. He did not wake. It didn't seem fitting that one of the humans who helped save Luigi should die here either.

"Johnny! Answer me!"

The cat tried to meow. It had never been a problem before; heck he'd been doused with water and had boots thrown at him when he'd sat on fences serenading females in the middle of the night many times. Where was his beautiful voice?

The man's leg bled. Why didn't he just lick it? Any cat knew that's what you do with a damaged leg.

The man didn't stir and it didn't look like anyone had tried to lick his wounds for him either. The cat tried to lick his un-gloved finger to no avail. He did not stir. There was nothing for it; he'd have to do it…

"OW!"

_Well … it had to be done. _

"Cap, over here, I heard him!" Roy called from the other side of the debris.

_Mission accomplished._

The metal above him through which he had slinked started to sway dangerously. Brown eyes regarded him.

John felt a throb of blood leave his finger in time to his rapid heartbeat and he stared into amber eyes.

"Johnny, if you can cover your head as best you can, we're comin' for you," Roy encouraged. The tangled mass above him swayed in carefully choreographed moves like a game of Jenga where the loser just might be him.

John couldn't help his eyes drifting shut; they stung with salt and blurred with sweat and by now there wasn't much to see anyway. "'K, Roy, jus' gemme outta … here, so I can … scatter my own … ashes."

The horrifying statement actually made Roy feel better. His partner always looked for clever things to say in such situations.

"You better go …" John rasped to the cat. "…Lassie," he half sobbed, half laughed as his finger continued to throb. He sucked in another breath just as more of the impromptu tomb was disassembled. The cat turned around, walking on three legs, only to turn its amber eyes back on him. The hole was blocked. This seemed to make up the cat's mind. It lay down, defeated and spent, furless chest sinking and rising in exaggerated, pained breaths.

"Nooo…" John rasped. He reached with all his strength.

"Johnny, don't move! The pile's teetering. We're almost through to you but don't move," Cap said and it sounded a lot like an order but Cap didn't understand so John continued to reach, his arm scooping and coming up empty until the fourth sweep. His stiff fingers closed around a warm, wet paw and he dragged the cat toward him. His bloody finger slipped on the buttons of his turnout coat but he managed to stuff the cat against his shoulder. He shoved the air hose down into his turnout and ducked his chin down. The cat had shared his little door and the smells of roses that Gage somehow knew were red; he would share his stale, compressed trickle of air. The cat squirmed for a minute and then they both fell silent.

XXXX

John's eyes fixed on the roses beside the yellow tarp as the world tilted as Roy placed him gently down on his back.

Roy ripped the turnout coat open almost gagging at the sight that met him. At first the black sodden mass on his partner's shoulder looked like burnt flesh. He steeled himself to touch it and it fell away.

"Oh god," muttered Roy under his breath.

John's shaking hand found its way to his own shoulder and his eyes opened wider as Cap strapped an O2 mask to his face. The cat wobbled to the rose bushes and lay down next to a trampled stem on which clung a perfect, red rose. He buried his burnt nose into the petals and life seemed to leave the amber eyes.

Gage gasped as his clothes were cut away to his boxers and he was covered in a sterile sheet. His friends didn't understand what just happened in that building. Someone bent over the small form under the rose bushes and he had to trust that someone would do the right thing but right now he couldn't concentrate to figure out what that might be. His body jerked in spasms from the heat.

Roy ran his hands over his partner's super heated body finding no evidence of broken bones or burns. John felt a thermometer under his armpit.

"Th-thanks," he choked with a small wicked, half delirious grin from beneath the mask.

"For wha- OH!" Roy smiled suddenly. "Yeah, I can spare you _that _indignity. Unless Brackett…"

John's eyes grew round as saucers. "Don't even think … about it."

"Hey if you can joke, so can I," Roy replied but when he picked up the biophone he wore his concerned face.

"Rampart temperature is 105.0 tactile, respiration rapid and shallow, victim is going into shock." John wanted to hear the rest but slipped in and out of consciousness.

Even through the O2 mask he thought he could smell the roses. A coughing fit overtook him and when he settled he stared at his finger where tiny punctures testified of his savior. The world took sharper focus as Cap held the mask more firmly to his face and assisted his breathing. And still he smelled roses. His vision narrowed and widened and each time he opened his eyes Cap or Roy reminded him to breathe.

He was stabbed once in each arm as IV's were ordered. It wasn't unlike the tiny bites that elicited him to scream for help, letting the others know where he was.

"Ow," he groaned weakly.

"I know. Sorry," Roy stammered and the guilty look on his face told John this was not all he was sorry about. John looked around wildly as his hands and feet were held down and a cold but gentle spray of water hit his body taking his breath away. Cap looked pained as he forced ventilation through the mask. Mike fought his stomach cursing himself for having to put his friend though this.

"C-cold! St-stop it, please," John chattered despite the heat in his body.

"Roy, won't this put him into shock?" Mike stammered, keeping the stream extremely gentle but focused as instructed.

"No, sometimes at Rampart they give ice baths. There's no choice. He was starting to convulse, Mike, that's worse. I know it seems cruel, believe me I wish we didn't have to," Roy reassured the engineer whose jaw was jumping.

Roy palpated his partner's abdomen but found no signs of trauma. The purple bruising on his chest was another matter. He signaled that Cap could release his friend's hands. John curled in on himself from the cold water.

"It's gonna be okay. You're overheated. We have to get your temp down. It's gonna be okay," Roy intoned over and over again, pushing the sweat soaked bangs back from his partner's forehead, then signaling reluctantly for Mike to turn the hose back on.

John shivered under Cap's hands on his shoulders. Cap leaned slightly over his youngest paramedic, offering words of encouragement. John's eyes rested on Chet and the cat as if trying to distract himself from the pain.

"Hey cap, There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they  
>can't get away," Chet said in his best phantom mock.<p>

John's teeth stopped chattering long enough to smile and grimace.

"Latrines for the next four shifts, Kelly," Cap replied back in his best voice of authority before winking at his linesman. _Good job, son_, he thought fondly right afterward.

John panted heavily from the cold, his stomach sucking in and out. The cold kept him awake when he wanted nothing more than to pass out. Goosebumps rose on his flesh despite his core temperature and he shivered uncontrollably. "Urgh, st-stop, please."

"Hold up for a minute," Roy called out hoarsely. Once again the thermometer was held under his partner's armpit though he bucked and fought against it knowing what would come next.

"Gah," he sobbed out painfully as once again the relentless cold assaulted him and Roy's gravely voice failed to ground him. When the torture was over someone bandaged his leg and the cloth felt oddly warm against the rest of his skin. Just as he settled into being dried off and was drifting into blissful unconsciousness, his arms and legs were lifted and cold packs were applied there and his groin area.

And still he smelled roses. He shivered. Something warm was shot into the IV and traveled up his arm disappearing and taking its bliss with it.

XXXX

Shiny drops of water magnified the roses and dropped from leaf to stem onto a burnt nose. Unfocused brown eyes fixed on open, clouded ambers. Someone was talking but neither could understand what they were saying. The amber eyes blinked slowly.

XXXX

"I thought cats and pigeons were natural enemies," Chet croaked softly to the shivering cat. "He said you saved him. If that's true, thanks." The young linesman tried to find a spot to stroke on the little beast's body but almost every part of him was singed and or blistered red. Chet had no idea how it was still living, tail mostly off, nose dripping black as badly as his own was.

XXXX

"Kelly, you need to place the 02 on your face. You can't share it like that with an animal, it isn't sanitary and you're compromising your recovery," Brice said wearily. Chet and Marco's eyes turned toward Brice with what came from his mouth next. "Bellingham, please get the spare 02 and put it on low flow one inch from the feline's face until Animal Control can get here to euthanize it. There's no reason we can't make it more comfortable. Lopez how are you holding up? The ambulance was delayed on the freeway."

Marco wanted to tell Brice that watching him work was like watching a tennis match, dizzying under the best of circumstances but with the pain in his back, almost intolerable. Somehow it didn't seem the proper response because he'd barely felt the IV go in when Brice had done it. The perfect paramedic performed a perfect IV and Marco's arm was cradled to his chest comfortably, besides if he complained he wasn't terribly sure that the bespecled young man wouldn't suggest euthanizing _him_.

Chet's eyes watered. He wanted to yell at Brice's cold, yet practical analysis of the grim situation but the snooty paramedic was right. There wasn't any hope for this cat.

Bellingham returned with the spare O2 and placed it next to the little burnt snout. Chet watched in sympathy as the cat sensed fresher air and lifted its head up hopefully only to put it back down.

Bellingham offered his arm to Chet to help him up and away from the sad sight. "Here, let me help you up. You can sit next to Marco until the ambulance arrives."

Brice cringed at the familiarity of first names but he'd worked at fifty-one enough to know better than to say anything just now. "Oh, very well, Bellingham, let him stay here, his BP's up a little probably due to heat exhaustion and dehydration. We don't want to upset him further."

"I'm right here," the phantom said indignantly.

"Good, you know where you are. Oriented," Brice said and scrawled on his report and vitals form.

Roy smiled grimly listening to Chet whine when they cut his shirt off because his bad shoulder didn't allow for its removal. Brice started prepping an IV before Brackett even ordered one.

"Hey, I don't need one of those," Chet howled.

"Don't worry, Kelly, I assure you I won't start one unless ordered to do so, which I'm confident I will be. I always like to be prepared."

"Brice's surprisingly gentle sticking it in," Marco chuckled, the influence of the morphine making itself known.

Brackett had no sooner ordered an IV for Chet when the perfect paramedic replied to Marco. "That's what my fiancé tells me, Lopez."

Chet was too busy trying to figure out if he'd heard right to even feel the needle slip into place smoothly and be taped down. Bellingham chuckled under his breath.

Chet stared glumly at his IV. "How's our boy?" he asked miserably to Roy's back.

"You're not gonna have to break in a new pigeon, Chet," Roy said with shaky conviction having overheard the linesman's sad assurances and thanks to the little cat. "Listen, is the poor cat still hanging on?"

"Y-yeah," Chet gulped as Brice cleaned a small cut on his forehead and then listened to his chest.

Brice fiddled in the IV box and brought out more tubing.

"Now wait a minute," Chet protested, "I heard Brackett; he said _an_ IV, meaning one. You're not sticking me again."

"Relax, Kelly. You're completely stable. I suspect your shoulder's separated which is why I bound it to your chest. This," he indicated the other tubing, "is for the cat. I'm going to establish a pediatric needle IV to administer some fluids. It'll make it more comfortable until Animal Control gets here to euthanize it. Also their job will be easier. You see if its veins collapse they won't be able to administer the…"

Roy had only to clear his throat to shut Brice up. John was stable; he didn't need sad details to upset him further.

XXXX

Large, amber eyes that were clearer than they should have been found brown ones across the few feet of separation. John's eyes followed the IV tubing to the cat's paw. They stared at each other for a minute, a secret message passing between them. _Fight._

John's head pounded. He knew what he wanted to say but words jumbled in his mind.

"R-Roy? Don't let them kill 'im … please?"

The ambulance pulled up. Roy swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I'll pay for … anything … he needs. Saved me … Roy. That makes 'im … one of us," John asserted pointing to his own chest as his heart rate ramped up a notch.

Brice looked over and saw Gage struggling. He placed a stethoscope on the feline's body, his face taking on a look of complete surprise.

"Since the IV was established his heart rate has returned to a better rate of 145 beats per minute. Feline hearts usually beat at 120 to 140 beats per minute." The perfect paramedic made a face before taking the cat's temperature. There was some throat clearing and some heads turning away.

"His temperature is 102, not too bad considering the norm for felines is 100.5." Brice went on, taking the corner of a sheet and placing it over the little form and pouring normal saline over its body. His respiration is 45 but that's to be expected in his condition. Normal feline respiration is between 16 and 40 breaths per minute."

Animal control pulled their white van into the smoke filled lot taking out two wild rose bushes in its wake. Two young men got out and stared in awe at the unlikely triage arrangement. They spoke in low tones after lifting the sheet and one of them instructed the other to get _the syringe._

Johnny was strapped onto a gurney and Cap and Roy tried to talk loudly over the Animal Control Officers but John heard them. He tried to say something but all that came from his mouth was black splatter against the clear mask which he pushed aside in frustration. Roy wanted to yell for the Mayfair attendants to get him out of here but they were moving as quickly as they could.

"Roy … Cap … please?" John sobbed out. He somehow knew that if the cat was holding on in its condition, it was holding on for a reason. It would be easy to let go but he wasn't. Neither of them had.

Roy had promised Johnny he'd never lie to him if he was injured. They'd both made promises to each other that they knew they'd come to regret. "I'll try, Junior," Roy said, swallowing the lump in his throat as John was picked up and put in the ambulance.

Roy picked up the 02 cylinder and he and Brice exchanged glances. Roy hadn't liked Brice since he rode with him the last time John had been hurt but since then they'd come to an understanding.

"Listen, fellas, this cat is a hero of sorts. It seems he saved one of our men. We'd like to at least have him looked at by a veterinarian to see if there's anything to be done for him. It's important," Brice told the animal control officers, jerking his head toward the ambulance whose doors stood open.

"We don't carry oxygen. This cat's not gonna make it to the animal clinic," the animal control officer said.

Brice sighed. "Bellingham, I'll uh, meet you at Rampart. The animal clinic is at 108 Hixon, we pass it on the way."

Bellingham good-naturedly hopped in the back of one of the ambulances with Marco and Chet and Cap pretended not to hear that an O2 tank was taking a small detour to an animal clinic.

"And then there's the matter of payment," the officer told Brice. "Euthanasia of a stray is subsidized but veterinary intervention isn't, I'm sorry."

"It'll be taken care of," Brice told him as he closed the ambulance doors.

"Oh, wait, we have orders to pick up a female with kittens too," the man suddenly remembered.

"Johnny said something about kittens, Cap," Mike said.

Brice tapped his foot. "I've called in as going to Rampart."

"Listen guys, we'll look around for a female with kittens. If we find her, we'll bring her in, deal?" Cap said tiredly. Turning to Mike he said. "We're going to be stood down for a bit until replacements are found anyway and sixteens is still working on some hotspots."

XXXX

Cap and Roy made their way to John's room. John's face was pale under the O2 mask, no longer the red or alternating bluish and sooty oxygen starved visage it had been only hours ago. Chet, pushed by Mike practically spilled into the room from the hallway. John opened his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered weakly.

"Hey yourself, Junior," Roy replied in a whisper he couldn't explain. John's head lifted from the pillow and he looked at his bandaged leg for the first time.

"Not broken … then?" he croaked.

"No, just black and blue to match your chin and chest," Chet replied.

John's eyes closed in relief as Chet pulled something from the pocket of his hospital issue robe. He plopped three sooty ice packs onto the paramedic's bed. John looked down at them in question.

"I saved 'em for ya. You can refreeze 'em and use 'em the next time your date doesn't show up in lieu of a cold shower."

Cap turned to the injured linesman and almost shouted but toned it down. "Kelly, that makes a month of latrine as soon as you're cleared for duty."

But Johnny was smiling and Roy just shook his head.

"Shut it, Chet," John smiled weakly and Cap suddenly understood what the exchange was really about; the phantom's way of finding out how John really was because it wasn't like he would tell the truth anyway.

XXXX

All eyes turned to Dixie when she entered the room. "Marco's going to be fine. He has two cracked ribs in his back and he's getting a breathing treatment and being sent home," she smiled at the looks of relief each man wore. "And I hear you were all mighty lucky to be in that machine footing when the scaffolding came down, too."

"Yeah, if they'd been on the floor, they'd have been crushed," Cap said, blowing out a breath and running his hands through his smoky hair.

"Yeah, well pigeons and phantoms have nine lives and Marco has a Saint Christopher pendant," Chet said.

John's hand reached up to remove his oxygen mask. Roy gave him a _don't-even-think-about-it _stare.

"I think that cat had more lives in 'im too," John said sadly and Chet wanted to retract his choice of words.

"Uh, Dix, are Brice and Bellingham still here?"

"Yeah, they're cleaning up and getting supplies," Dixie replied as she gently removed the IV from John's right arm. "Dr. Brackett wants you to finish this one," she explained when he held his left up.

John sat up on his elbows earning him a glare from his captain. Roy sighed and left to find Brice and Bellingham.

"Brice?" Roy began as he approached the perfect paramedic. "Um, did … you know … did they uh …" but he couldn't finish his sentence, opting instead for the crude slice of his finger across his throat to indicate what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"The vet technician says it's very unlikely the feline will survive the night but they've put it in an oxygen cage and it's getting fluids. If it survives the night they're going to have to amputate its tail and back foot. It's lost its left ear and whiskers. It's a very expensive operation and I was told in no uncertain terms that what … we're doing might be considered cruel." Brice pushed his glasses from his sooty, sweaty face his expression belying his cold interpretation of how the small, furry hero was doing.

"Um, listen, Brice, thanks for um … you know, what you did back there," Roy said. "It meant a lot to John."

"Well, Gage shouldn't get his hopes up. Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances," Brice said and turned on his heel. And suddenly Roy's understanding of the man changed. There was something in his past that put the mask on his face that molded him and his character; of that Roy was sure. Maybe one day he'd buy him a beer or seven and get it out of him, or he'd ask Bellingham. That might be easier.

When Roy went back to his partner's treatment room, Brackett had just ordered a breathing treatment. If John responded well, he could go home. Chet tilted his head hopefully toward the doctor.

"I think we can send you on home as well, Chet. You'll miss your next few shifts."

John's eyes focused on Roy.

Roy cleared his throat. "The cat's hanging on for now. If it survives the night, they'll operate to remove his tail and hind foot." Roy looked at the floor. He'd promised not to lie and he wouldn't start now.

John sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. For once Chet had no words. Mike pushed his chair out of the room as Cap offered to buy coffee. Roy was shooed out a short time later as Dixie came back with clean towels and a bowl of warm water.

XXXX

The breathing treatment was brutal. John coughed up black sputum for half an hour. When his shaking stopped Dixie helped him into a pair of fresh scrubs. She placed a thermometer under his tongue.

"Well, you're normal, now just lie back and rest until your IV is finished," she said kindly. She dimmed the lights and held the door for Roy as he slipped back inside. Roy made no noise as he watched the never ending drip drip drip of the IV thinking to himself that IV's were like a watched pot.

Finding replacements for three men from one station proved difficult. They were stood down long enough for Chet and Marco to be dropped off at Marco's parent's house by Mike. John slept in the middle seat of the squad between Cap and Roy. They pulled up outside his apartment building but just as Roy was going to nudge his partner awake, he changed his mind.

"John's not gonna like it but I'm taking him home. Joanne'll skin me alive if I let him go home by himself."

Cap was heartened by the news. He didn't like to tell his men what to do outside of work, that was his duty at the station but he also considered himself a friend and worried about breaking that invisible line.

Roy slipped the squad into gear and drove out of the lot bumping down the rather high curb and jarring his friend into groggy wakefulness.

"Where … oh." John's head swiveled back toward his apartment building. "Uh, Roy, you're going the wrong way."

"No, I'm not Junior," Roy said sounding very sure of himself.

John inhaled deeply and coughed, his look resigned. He was too tired to argue.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," he coughed. "We just passed the shelter. Let's stop by and see how he's doing."

Roy looked to Cap for direction hoping Cap would tell them there was no time.

Cap studied his youngest paramedic's face.

"Sure, Johnny," Cap said.

Roy's mouth fell open but he pulled into the lot. The front office windows were darkened, the sign on the door reading closed but below that, a doorbell invited employees to buzz for night entry.

Cap stepped out of the squad and stood near enough to catch John if he fell. John shivered against the night air. Roy draped his turnout coat over his slender shoulders and pressed the doorbell. A camera swiveled down at them and a voice issued from a speaker in the wall.

"I'm sorry, we're closed."

Cap stepped forward and pressed the talk button. "Excuse us, we're from the L.A. Fire Department. Earlier one of our men would have come by to pick up an oxygen container that we sent with two of your employees for a cat they brought in. We were wondering how he's doing."

"Listen we don't usually allow any visitation during night hours but I'm gonna let you in. Push the door when you hear the buzz," came the female voice.

Cap pushed the door and Roy guided his partner inside. The front office lights flicked twice and then came on revealing a young woman in a white coat standing in the back room.

"I was hoping someone would call," the vet explained. "Ultimately it's up to you, but I can't recommend keeping the cat in this condition in good conscience without telling you that we've been unable to control its pain entirely."

XXXX

It was a mini Rampart, gleaming tile walls, a few people dressed in white looking at charts but there was one difference. None of these patients had a family member pacing beside them. The three strong firemen, so stoic in their work stared from cage to cage. Tiny paws reached through mesh front cages for even a glimpse of human interaction, a reason why they were there.

Cap gulped and was already forming a speech in his head about why his wife Emily should have a dog around while he was on night shift. Roy had said no to a cat ten times when Jennifer asked for one, owing to the fact that they already had a dog but the sight of a huge black dog in the same cage as an orange cat, the two of them sleeping curled up together as if they were all they had was freezing his resolve.

John approached the cage that resembled a glass aquarium slowly. An air hose circulated oxygen from a tank beside it. The glass steamed a bit in front of the nose of the tiny being inside, the only indication of life. John sat in the chair in front of the tank and pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath steaming the glass from the other side.

XXXX

John's father had been a modern man. While he believed and practiced some of the old ways on the reservation, ranch life came with many hard decisions and John remembered how his dad suffered in debate as to weather an animal on the ranch was suffering great pain beyond being able to survive or whether it could be cured. He was always quiet on the nights when the decision was the hardest one to make and it was never made lightly. His people had great respect for all living things and even farm animals destined for the table lived a good life. Nothing was wasted.

Cap put his hand on John's shoulder.

"I guess this is up to me, huh?" John whispered.

"I'm afraid so, unless nature just takes its course," Cap replied sadly.

Roy stood in front of a cage of a mother cat with kittens. He could tell immediately that they were the ones from the fire they'd fought fourteen hours ago. The mother was diligently cleaning them still.

"Our volunteers will bathe them tomorrow," the vet explained. "We didn't want to put them through any more trauma today. They spent about six hours in an oxygen cage and they seem to have come around pretty well. If all goes well, they should be available for adoption in about two weeks time. Hopefully they'll get a home."

"Hopefully?" Roy gulped; the practicality of it all stinging his already tired eyes.

The vet smiled sadly in understanding and excused herself to get back to work.

Roy turned his attention to his partner who was staring through the glass at the little creature that had saved his life. If not for being bitten John would not have cried out, alerting his rescuers to his exact location.

The cat's mouth was open. It was impossible to tell what color he was. He'd been painted black by the cruel hand of an arsonist.

"Cap, I don't know what to do. How can I just …"

Cap gulped. "You've told us that if you were burned so badly that you would suffer for the rest of your life that you wouldn't want resuscitation if you died naturally. I'm not able to tell you what you should do here, John, and I'm not a very religious man but I do believe we should treat others as we would treat ourselves."

A shudder chorused through Roy's body. They never talked about their wishes. It was written down and shoved deep, deep down where it didn't interfere with the insanity of running into a burning building that others are running out of.

The cat's eyes opened and a small gasp emitted from John. This made things harder, having to look at him looking back.

"I wish my dad was alive, Cap, but I think he would have said the same thing you did," John said quietly.

Cap's jaw jumped. It was a high compliment. On the rare occasions when John spoke about his father, it was with pride, he'd taught him to ride horses, how to fish, how to be a part of the natural world around him in harmony while living in the modern world. And he'd been taken from John too early.

John stared into the ambers while two sets of eyes bored into his back with concern. He coughed into a tissue a vet technician working over a microscope handed him. The young man stared in concern when the tissue came away stained faintly black. Cap assured him that the young paramedic was going to be fine and had taken in a lot of smoke earlier in the day.

"Ow," John hissed quietly as he made the mistake of putting his head down onto the crook of his needle bruised elbow.

The cat's eyes grew wider at the quiet exclamation of pain from the man who sat before him but his tiny body remained resolutely still.

_You should lick that!_

John carefully put his head down on his forearm, exhausted. Roy wanted to insist on taking him home now. Brackett had been dubious at best about releasing him at all and side trips were certainly not on his list of prescriptions.

When a coughing fit overtook the young paramedic, Roy rummaged in the paper bag he'd brought in as a precaution and fished out an inhaler prescribed by Dr. Brackett. He let the young man cough as long as it was productive but handed him the inhaler at the proper time. He took the wad of tissues from his friend and disposed of them. John put his head back down on his forearm, his eyes glassy with effort. Sweat stood out on his brow.

John's eyes grew wide as the cat stood on shaking legs, one leg tucked up and useless, its face flat against the glass staring directly into his eyes asking a question he'd asked many times in his sad life; _do you want me? Forever … not just for a day, not on whim, not only when I'm little and cute. _

"Yes," John said suddenly.

No one had asked a question, at least as far as Cap and Roy were concerned. Roy's hand fell to his partner's forehead. There was medication in the bag for fever. He'd give it to him when they got home.

"He wants to live," John said firmly, reaching down to his pocket for his credit card only to remember his pocket was in tatters with the rest of his uniform likely in the trash at Rampart somewhere right now. Scrubs had no pockets.

"Um, I want him to have the operations. I'll pay but can I call in my credit card number?" John stammered.

The vet smiled. "A Mr. Craig Brice left his credit card number already. I'm afraid we'd have had to euthanize this cat if he didn't. He's already run up quite a bill and the shelter only covers humane euthanasia for wounded strays. It's not ideal but with no funding there's nothing we can do."

"I understand," John mumbled. "It's – it's awful, though."

"It is," the vet agreed. "If you leave your number where you can be reached I'll call you tomorrow with the results of the surgery but I have to caution you, there are no guarantees."

John looked around the entire shelter for a few seconds for the first time. All the tiny faces stared back at him. "You got that right," he gulped and let Roy and Cap lead him out into the cool night air.

"I'll call in the morning and have the balance transferred onto my card from Brice's," John yawned.

"I'll throw in some money on this too, Johnny," Roy said and Cap offered the same. "After all, he's one of us."

XXXX

"Whoa it's me!" Roy told his wife as she came downstairs carrying a baseball bat.

"I wasn't expecting you until morning. I figured it must be you because the dog didn't bark but you never can be too careful," Joanne Desoto said sheepishly when she realized Johnny and Cap were standing next to her husband who still had his hands up like a cornered bank robber. "Are you okay? Who's hurt?"

It was Johnny's turn to raise his hand. "Sorry, Jo, Roy's making a big deal out of nuthin' again is all."

Joanne turned on the light and went into survey mode.

"Well, Roy, the first thing you need to do is get that turnout coat out of here, the smoke is awful," she fussed. "I know you can't smell it but trust me."

Roy promptly lifted the turnout off of his partner's shoulders. It was quickly replaced with a blanket. Cap's HT toned and he, Mike and Roy were called as a compliment to station sixteen's fast food restaurant fire response. No replacements had been found but idle bodies were quickly put to good use.

"I have to go, honey, I'm sorry for waking you," Roy said, literally leaving Joanne holding the bag as he and Cap sped toward the squad.

Jo peered in the bags seeing the usual remedies.

"Sorry, Joanne," John said again. "Listen, let me just call a cab and go on home. Roy's just…"

"Making sure his wife doesn't kill him for letting you go home alone hurt?" Joanne supplied.

John was too tired to argue but too alert from the recent steroid inhalation to sleep. Joanne led him into the kitchen and put the kettle on to make him some honey tea for his throat. They sat talking as she watched his eyes take longer to open between blinks. She said a silent prayer that the cat who'd saved her friend would survive. It seemed so important to him.

XXXX

John hugged Chris and Jen, Roy's two kids before they went off the school the next morning and then he remembered that he'd given the vet his home phone number to call should anything happen to the cat.

Roy pulled in the driveway, his shoulders sagging momentarily as he watched the school bus disappear down the block. Two minutes too late for the morning hug. Traffic was bad. But he was off for the next three days. He'd make up for it then. Right? He shuddered for a second as an unwelcome memory forced its way into his head of an overturned school bus rescue. He would hug them twice as hard when they got home. He banished the thought because although there are no guarantees in life, you can't live your life forgetting miracles and forgetting to make the most of each day.

Roy was bone weary when he got in. His partner met him at the door. They exchanged a one armed hug. Yesterday had been rough.

"Any word yet?" Roy asked.

"Nah, I have to call 'em, I gave them my number by mistake. Guess I was really tired."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Yeah, you know your wife, the old honey tea interrogation and bam, you're out."

"I know it well," Roy smiled fondly as his wife called for him to come eat breakfast.

John followed Roy to the kitchen and had a second cup of coffee while Roy ate his breakfast. The coffee seemed to help his breathing but did nothing to kick him into alertness.

Roy looked at his watch. "Listen, they're not gonna have any news until well after the surgeries so why don't you catch a few more hours while I sleep and then we'll drive over to the shelter."

John was going to argue but Joanne agreed that that was a wonderful idea and she shooed them from the kitchen.

XXXX

"Johnny?" Roy's voice called.

John stirred. He opened his eyes fully expecting to be at the station.

"You let me sleep 'til three thirty?" he yelped sitting up quickly but regretting it. The adrenaline from yesterday had completely depleted and now all the hurts he'd received announced themselves like after a rigorous workout gone wrong.

"Come on, you can take some of the meds Brackett sent for you after you eat something," Roy said offering his arm. "Besides, Chris and Jen are home now; we can take them to the shelter."

"Y-you called? He made it?" John whispered.

"He's got a long way to go but they said he came through the surgeries with flying colors. I have to warn you, he sounds pretty ugly though. Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

John ate all of his soup and half of his sandwich only so Roy wouldn't fuss and he could take the pain meds prescribed for him. Jen held his hand on the way out to the car.

"Daddy says we can pick a kitten today. We can't take it home today but it'll be ours," she said proudly.

XXXX

The cat lay on his side in the same enclosed glass cage he'd been in last night.

"So you _are_ black," John said quietly approaching the tank, a little disconcerted at how quickly such a quiet voice could rouse the interest of the fragile creature.

"O-oh man," was all John could add as he sat down. Pink bandages were flattened against skin that once held the cat's right ear, gauze wound around a stump that used to be a tail, a pink cup made of gauze and plastic formed a dome over his amputated back right foot. But two large pain-filled amber eyes found him through the mist of anesthetic and fogged glass.

"Would you like to hold him?" A vet technician asked.

John gulped. "Uh … it won't … you know … hurt 'im too much?"

"He's actually been up to lap a bit of water. None of us expected that. I think he's restless."

"He sounds like you, Junior," Roy smiled.

The vet tech put a white sheet on John's lap and carefully plucked the cat from the tank, explaining it would be okay to have him out for a few minutes. Grizzled and soot scrubbed front nails came out experimentally as the cat was placed down on the sheet but quickly retracted once it was settled on John's lap.

John's hand hovered over the only part of the cat's head untouched by smoke and flame. He rubbed small circles just beside the right ear.

At first he thought the cat was in breathing distress and part of him wanted to fly into paramedic mode but the more he listened the more he realized; _the cat was actually purring!_

John had no idea where the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes came from.

"If you're gonna be sharing my apartment we're gonna have to have a talk about these pink bandages," he laughed, rubbing the back of his hand across his face fairly certain no one had heard their exchange. "I mean, we're bachelors, we gotta be cool you know?"

John felt like he was visiting a prison when the time came for the cat to be placed back into its tank. He carefully unwound the IV that led into the tiny leg from the back of his chair. The little cat promptly fell asleep once back in the oxygen rich environment.

XXXX

Roy was proud of his kids. They'd chosen to adopt the mother cat, reasoning that it would be easier for the kittens to find a good home. They were too young to be told of the horrors of unwanted pets. They left the shelter excited about making preparations for her homecoming.

True to his word, Roy swung by the station to let John get his Land Rover to go home.

"Sure you don't wanna stay another night?" Roy offered as John opened the door to his truck.

"Thanks Pally but I'm fine, really. Gonna have a long shower and watch some tv, hit the hay early," John told him, yawning already. Finding Roy's eyes still on him as he started the truck and put it into gear he rolled the window down. "I promise to call if I need anything," he smiled.

Roy rolled his eyes and tossed John the bag of meds he'd forgotten in his car. John had the good sense to look sheepish.

XXXX

On one hand the week off that Dr. Early ordered during John's follow up appointment was irritating; on the other hand, it would give him five days to get the cat moved into his apartment comfortably.

Two days later, a much healthier John Gage swung by to pick up Chris and Jen to go pick up some supplies from the pet store. Roy was at work and Joanne was looking forward to a child free afternoon.

Seatbelts safely buckled, Jennifer piped up from the backseat, "We should get them matching pink collars, after all they'll be family now," she said happily.

"Uh, Jellybean, my cat's a boy," Uncle Johnny told the pig tailed girl in the backseat.

"But he's wearing pink," Chris said horrified. "And you said he was a hero."

"I don't think those bandages come in any other color," John said, smiling as he realized he sounded a little defensive and had pictured his cat in a pink cape. "And yeah, he is a hero. He uh … saved me."

"Cool!" both children exclaimed. "You should name him Hero or Superman or something."

_A name, _he'd never really given it much thought.

XXXX

John paced back and forth with the small cat in his arms. Aside from some wheezing, the cat seemed more comfortable than John could have ever thought possible. He let the brave little hero visit his charges nose to nose through the cage. He couldn't let them mingle; the kittens wouldn't understand that he wasn't ready to be jumped on. Today he would take home his savior.

"I have the forms ready for you, if you want a custom tag, you have to tell us his name before we stamp the numbers on it," a volunteer at the shelter told him.

John put the cat down into its regular cage and walked to the front office, the volunteer waiting expectantly in front of the metal pressing machine.

"Uh, give me a minute, sorry," he said sheepishly. He turned on his heel and went back to the back room.

"Hey buddy, what's-a-matter?" The cat was turned back-to, nose pressed into the back of the cage.

"Oh – you thought – Nah, I'm not leaving without you," John practically purred. He reached in. The cat startled as if not expecting the face attached to the hand that touched him gingerly to be the one who promised him a forever home. He'd been promised that before. And people lied.

John's fingers ran over blisters on the long body, they dotted the feline's back and back paw. One stood out on the end of its poor nose reminding John of a teenager with a particularly large pimple.

"I can't call you fluffy … the vet said you're gonna have bald patches forever. Calling you Smokey would be cliché and besides, I already have Smokey in my locker back at the station … oh man, the station, who am I gonna get to look after you when I'm on a three day shift?"

The cat drew himself up to his full feline height though John could swear he saw a grimace of pain mixed with the pride in the understanding it seemed to want to convey.

"Yeah, I know, you're used to taking care of yourself aren't ya? Been there … but everyone needs help sometimes and you know those guys who dug us out? Well, they're my brothers now, and I guess since you saved all those little guys over there …" John said, pointing to the kittens and Mama cat resting in their cage nursing, "and me, that makes you one of us. I had to learn to let people help me. Trust can be hard."

"I'm gonna call you Blister," John told the cat.

Blister limped forward and bumped foreheads with his new friend.

The newly minted tag gleamed in John's palm. It was doubtful Blister would ever wear it because a collar would likely chafe against skin that would remain hairless for a very long time. John gulped as he paid the large bill but didn't regret his decision for a minute. He looked around the shelter one last time with sadness as animals went back to their dormant positions after reaching for any soul who strolled through the place.

XXXX

Two bachelors spent Friday night on the couch, one with a beer and one with the drippings from the tuna can. At first, Blister sat beside his new person but by the time the late movie was over, his bandaged body draped across a warm lap. The ringing of the telephone interrupted the comfortable silence.

"Oh hey, Dixie," John greeted upon hearing the nurse's voice.

"Hi, Johnny, listen, you know the gentleman you guys brought in the day you were hurt? Well he asked if it would be okay for me to give him your phone number."

John couldn't imagine what the man would want his phone number for but he gave permission. Five minutes later his phone rang again.

John heard all about the remarkable cat's past and Luigi had a request.

XXXX

Two bachelors and an older Italian man sat on the couch on Saturday eating pasta that Luigi had brought for the visit. Luigi explained how it had been he who planted the roses and had snuck back to his old workplace to feed the little cat.

"I'm glad he has a name now," Luigi said looking rather sad. "I couldn't give 'im a home so I figured it wouldn't be right for me to give him a name. I was only ever able to give him a meal here or there."

Blister left John's lap for a minute to limp across to Luigi. He gave a small head bump against Luigi's chest, looking back to John for confirmation that this was okay. Luigi's crisp white shirt now wore a small smudge of pasta sauce. Luigi laughed.

"I guess I never realized you were a sloppy eater because my work pants were always so covered in oil and dirt," he said fondly. "Well, I've kept you long enough Mr. Gage. I hope you're feeling better soon and thanks so much … you know for helping rescue an old fool and for giving this little guy a home." He gave Blister one more pat and turned to leave.

"Listen, my wife and I don't have much, but as a gesture of thanks she'd like to pack up some homemade lasagna and rolls and send them to your station when you're on duty next," Luigi said.

"Well awright!" John said happily.

Luigi opened the door. Blister meowed a sad, smoke subdued farewell.

XXXX

After roll call on his first day back to work, John scrutinized his friends who had been injured. Chet and Marco looked a lot better than they had last week. Mike clapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him back after apologizing again for having to freeze him with the hose.

"Roy made you do it," John said cheekily.

"Brackett made me do it," Roy said defensively and since Dr. Brackett wasn't there to defend himself and wouldn't anyway, that was the end of apologies and pass-the-buck.

Conversation centered on the animal shelter. It seemed all of the guys had paid a visit or two to the little hero at the shelter.

"We should help organize an adopt-a-thon," Mike said. "One of the volunteers said if they could get a fire engine on site and we brought our mascot for people to meet, the shelter could potentially empty. They lower the license fees and advertise in the newspaper."

"I'm all for it," Cap said.

"And John and I could bring the old engine too," Roy said brightly. We could hand out flyers at Chris and Jen's school."

"Mama would put flyers up in the church," Marco offered.

"My mom sews, she'd be happy to make those little bandanas people like for pets and they could sell them to raise money," Chet said.

By the time they got toned out, the men had a plan of action to help the animals at the shelter that had wandered into their hearts thanks to a hero of their own kind.

XXXX

At five o'clock a week and half later, the shelter's last charge went home with its new owner. Everyone prayed for forever homes. They knew it would be a matter of time before the cages would fill but for now, it was time for celebration. The adopt-a-thon would become a bi-monthly event.

"Luigi, your wife's lasagna raked in $300.00 dollars and an additional $200 for her recipe books," gasped an elated volunteer who sat at a desk enjoying a piece of the lasagna with a fork in one hand and a calculator in the other.

"I think Chet spent about thirty bucks on the stuff," Mike joked, poking the phantom in the stomach.

"Hey be nice, my mom's dog-kerchiefs flew off the shelves too, they made two hundred bucks."

John stared down at Blister in his arms. The still pink-bandaged cat had become a celebrity after the morning news featured the adopt-a-thon and people came down and paid to have their pictures taken with the hero who had saved one of their heroes. As usual when a reporter tried to get John to say a few words, the words escaped him, but it was Blister who saved him this time by shoving his ugly head into the microphone and purring for all of L.A. County.

XXXX

The first few times John came home smelling of smoke, Blister backed away from him. His bandages were gone, the blisters now ugly, scabbing flesh but it was a beautiful thing to have someone to come home to. Blister batted at the shower curtain as John took a long shower. The steam, the vet had told John would do Blister's lungs good.

John stepped out of the shower and into his warm, blue terry robe. Blister sniffed the air experimentally and when he smelled Old Spice he knew it was safe to leap. John caught him mid-air.

The vet had told John that the already older cat would probably not have a very long life with the trauma it had suffered but John already knew that life came with no guarantees, no time outs and no second chances … unless you were like he and Blister.

"Nine lives, baby," John smiled as he and Blister sat down to eat spaghetti and meatballs courtesy of Blister's new cat sitters, Luigi and his wife. John grated fresh Parmesan over the meal making Blister purr loudly.

Remember, the early bird may get the worm but the second bird gets the cheese. And if ever there was a second bird, it was a cat.

The end.

XXXX

A/N – So, I hope you caught "who" said that phrase.

This has been stated in several ways for over 100 years by various individuals, including (but not limited to) Churchill, Pope John Paul II, Dostoyevsky, Truman, etc.

Very recently by Cardinal Roger Mahony (1998):

"Any society, any nation, is judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members ; the last, the least, the littlest."

And perhaps most dubiously attributed to Ghandi:

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated. "

I believe that.


End file.
